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by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [114]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: 38 lifetimes, 38 lifetimes fic, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingering, Oral Sex, Sexual Intercourse, the red nose diaries, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 19:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18533845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Carmen makes a connection with an intern at the office.





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She wasn’t supposed to be late.

But when Carmen woke up on a rainy Friday morning, the last thing she wanted to do was get out of her warm bed, take a shower (which her landlord hadn’t yet gotten around to fixing), and race to get coffee before squeezing onto the tube to work.

There was something about the sound of rain tapping against her window, the feeling of her nightgown riding up around her hips, that made her feel indulgent. She lay on one side of her queen size bed, and out of the corner of her squinting eye, imagined that her body-pillow was an actual body. Breathing and sleeping next to her.

There was nobody in Carmen’s life which she felt gave her license to fantasize that the pillow could be somebody. Anybody. Even as her alarm went off again, she closed her eyes and once again he came to mind.

Tom. The intern. There weren’t that many years between them, age-wise, but he was still in drama school while he had just finished her first year as an assistant producer at the theater.

(More like assistant to the producer but no matter. It was a start.)

Everybody at work was mad about Tom. He was charming, intelligent, and handsome. Junior assistants were forever trying to get a peek at his personnel files, or get him to talk more about the flat he had actually bought with, it was rumored, family money. The admins, motherly types all with husbands and dogs and houses in the suburbs, were forever flirting with him, making up nieces they wanted to set him up with. Tom deflected and demurred, though not for much longer. This Friday was his last day, and then he’d be off to start his stage career with an even smaller theater company than the one that currently employed him and Carmen.

It wasn’t his easy grace and perfect manners that came to Carmen’s mind that morning. She saw curly blond hair. Bright blue eyes, and thin but firm lips. The way he’d smile as he leaned in doorways, chatting with every person who went back. His long elegant hands, and wide shoulders that tapered to narrow hips.

She wondered what it would feel like to have his hips between her soft thighs.

Carmen found her clit with her right hand, circling it with her index finger. She dug her heels into the mattress. Imagined the weight of Tom in bed next to her. Could almost feel him leaning over her, whispering filthy things in her ear before he kissed down her neck, her shoulder. Then to her breast, which he would suck gently while she continued to finger herself. His tongue to her nipple, then his hand would stroke her folds. A slow, ecstatic rhythm, working ever slower even as she rubbed her clit faster and harder. “Inside me,” she would sob as she got closer, and Tom would obey. Thrusting his fingers inside, he would fuck her with his hand and watch her face as she came. The silence that would come immediately follow would be heavy. The room would stink of sex and sweat, stale clothes and the damp of the rain outside seeping through the windows. Tom’s nostrils would flare as she sucked on Carmen’s finger, the one she had made herself come with. He’d replace that finger with his own, slowly teasing her clit while he eased her legs apart to push his own hard cock inside her.

Carmen lay alone in bed, in a post-orgasmic stupor. She sniffed her finger, and wondered if the scent might be different if she had fantasized about someone else. Would it be stronger or weaker depending on her body, her cycle, her object of desire. Before she could entertain even stranger and more surreal thoughts, her alarm reminded her she had to get out of bed and Get. To. Work.

She put on yesterday’s jeans, and a blouse that was entirely too light and sheer for the office even though she found a camisole under which to layer it. On the tube, she was aware that everybody smelled like wet spaniel, and so did not feel so bad about skipping the shower. Once at her desk, she flipped on her computer and saw, at once, that she had two minutes to run to an impromptu meeting in the theater itself.

On the stage she found four long tables arranged in a closed circle. Battered folding chairs and rolling office chairs that had seen better days, all occupied by her colleagues. For some reason, the stage lights were on so everybody squinted as they ran down the last week. It was the brightness of the lights that prevented Carmen from realizing that the seat she happened to grabb was next to Tom’s. She crossed her leg, away from him, but couldn’t help turning her head, over her shoulder, to glance at him. He gave her a faint smile when he caught her, but she did not return it. She merely nodded and pretended to be fascinated by her phone.

“As a last order of business,” Gareth the house manager declared, “We are to say goodbye to young Hiddleston, who is leaving us to ply his trade on stages over the world.”

Tom groaned goodnaturedly, then blushed when people called for him to make a speech. He refused, politely, but did pay respects to the staff who had been so accommodating during his tenure. There were no flowers, but someone wheeled out a cake, and one of the assistants yelled about meeting at the pub around the corner later that afternoon.

“Could you, Carmen?” One of the middle aged ladies was handing over a plate of cake to her. Before she could thank her colleague, the woman nodded. “Pass it to Tom, if you please.”

Carmen could have just as easily plopped it on the table in front of him, as he was engaged in a discussion with the assistant lighting designer. Instead, she tapped Tom on the arm and, when he turned, waved it in front of his face.

“Here you are,” she said, a little out of breath than she meant to sound.

“Oh!” Tom’s eyes widened. He ducked back, surprised by the cake that had all of a sudden appeared right below his nose. His nostrils flared a little and his lip even curled, and then Carmen realized,  _ Oh god, I really do smell like a wet spaniel _ . She put down the plate, said “Sorry,” without indicating what she was sorry for, and returned to her office alone.

Carmen sat at her desk and sniffed. First her coat, then her blouse. Nothing. A few strands of her still damp hair — it smelled wet. The lengths of her forearms and finally her hands. Palms. Fingers. One fingertip in particular and Carmen audibly gasped. She knew she had washed her hands at home. Or thought she did. Was it the soap not being harsh enough? Was there traces of her essence caught under her nails? Had she spent the entire tube ride anointing the car and her fellow passengers with… with her…

Carmen snapped out of her reverie when she heard the door to her office close. She looked up to find Tom glaring at her. He didn’t look angry but it was an intense look. Focused. Like he saw right through her. Must have known she was sniffing her own finger because she was a pervert and even worse she was a pervert who didn’t know how to wash properly.

She got up out of her chair, ready to explain or apologize or something to Tom as he came around to her side. But she never got the chance because he grabbed her hands and put them on his face. He pushed her back by the hips, her butt landing on top of her desk. He laid her out, then removed her right hand from his cheek so he trace the top of his lip with her index finger. Once again his nostrils flared, and he took a good, deep breath. Carmen could only watch as he took her finger between his lips and sucked. Sucking and moaning, he ground into her. Carmen’s head fell back, and the world became upside down. All she saw was inverted and strange. But somehow this wasn’t. Tom storming into her office and pushing onto her desk wasn’t strange at all. It was the darker cousin of her bedroom fantasy, becoming real.

There were Tom’s lips sucking on her neck. His hands pushing and pulling so her blouse and then her camisole were at her shoulder. And then her bra, so her nipples puckered in the cool, stale office air as his thumbs, moistened by his own tongue, began to tease the hardened buds. She could feel the bruises beginning to form on her neck where he sucked and bit and kissed. Carmen rolled her hips, locked her ankles behind his ass and held on.

Just as the blood rushing to her head made her pass out, Tom pulled her up. Laid her head flat so he could kiss her. He offered a finger of his own to her, and watched, eyes dark, as she sucked upon it. After that, he made quick work of the fly of her jeans, groaning with pleasure when he reached inside and found she wasn’t wearing knickers. Her jeans were soaked, and every time he reached inside Carmen swore another waft of her scent — musky and tart, salty and sweet — drifted up her body. Tom swore, his public school education and elaborate vocabulary forgone in favor of describing in crudely simple, graphic detail the ways he would make her come. His fingers first, then by his tongue, and finally by his cock. His tongue was a wild thing, plundering and plunging in her mouth while he fingered her still.

Carmen sobbed, moaning  _ yes _ and  _ more _ . Tom stopped, and she was breathless. Just for a moment, though, so he could rip off her jeans. And while he stood and kicked off his own, she held herself open to him. Lips pink and swollen and wet, shining in the dim light of the lamp on a nearby bookcase. He knelt upon the floor and pressed the tip of his nose to the underside of her clit. Even before his tongue began to slip inside her Carmen was driven wild by the way he panted against her. The way he snorted and groaned, licked at the sweaty juncture between her sex and her thighs. The air was ripe and pungent in this small office, and if it felt stuffy then there was nothing like Tom’s mouth and his tongue plundering at her intimate depths to cut through it.

It was like he was making out with her pussy, a weird thought in Carmen’s head that made her laugh. Tom snorted, but did not ask what was so funny. He waggled the tip of his tongue across her clit, then closed his lips around it to suck when his fingers, never idle, always engaged, fucked her faster and faster. There was no more laughter from Carmen, just faster and shallower breaths. Pitched higher and higher. She sounded greedy, tried to close her thighs around his head. There was now the roar of blood in his ears, the salty tart scent and taste of her, and he could barely get to his feet fast enough to take himself in hand and push his cock into her sex.

She was as tight and hot, slick and eager as he had fantasized. Her dark eyes were barely open, and not entirely focused on him, but when he snuck a glance at her face Tom was arrested by how clear they could be when seen from so close.

Tom rubbed her clit with his thumb, soothing her whines with soft  _ tsks _ that belied the need he felt even as he filled her. He lay there, face pressed into her neck, and considered this moment.

A moment he had been dreaming about since the first day of his internship. When he happened to follow her into the office, lost on his way to find his supervisor, and happened to catch the intoxicating, heady fragrance of whatever it was upon her skin — sweat, rain, shampoo, coffee, perfume, petrol, lotion — that made Tom’s mouth water just to be near her.


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